Insanity ➽ muke a.u

❥un

Michael

I don't like being crazy.

Everyone's stares. Now, don't get me wrong, I honestly love attention, but not for such a reason as this. Two sickingly sweet voices pull me out of thought.

"Michael, we're here. Have you got everything?" I hear my mothers voice.

My father follows: "This will be good for you, son"

My parents seriously think this is going to help me. Seriously? It's too fucking late for that. I've been this way since I was as young as 11. I'm 20 at the end of the year, it took you this long to find out there's something wrong with me. Woop de fucking doo.

I'm so lost in my thoughts, I look out the car window, feeling helpless and pathetic - like a child. Dirty rundown letters are the first in sight -

"Sydney Hospital For The Mentally Insane"

This. This dump is where I'm being left for God knows how long. I could literally feel myself begin to rip out materials of the car seats with my bare hands. I was so lost for words, it felt like my tongue was ripped out. Mumbling inaudible whispers, I just relocate myself from the backseat to the trunk, where I get a single suitcase.

My mother is trying to smile but she does not seem to care about my well being at all. She claims to have tried for 8 years - fuck no bitch. You just want me gone to gain a better reputation with the neighbours. No one wants the freak with coloured hair and is 'mentally insane'.

It's not my fault that my happiness was taking right from me. I was a witness - the only witness. Nobody believed me. I was just a kid, and apparently, kids can have no influence or impact on society. They just sit there being the products of their father's broken condoms.

My father is an exact replica of my mothers behaviour - putting on a smile but clearly just wanting to get the process over and done with.

I take my single suitcase, putting my headphones in, as well. Music is the one thing that can calm me down, and I'm positive it's the only thing. I do not say a word; staring at the patterns of the bricks implanted on the ground.

"We're here to drop off Michael Clifford." A voice says to a receptionist.

"Yes, he will be in the room 576, on the 4th floor. His nurse, Ms Brennan will be there to assist with settling in."

I'm handed a key card and a pamphlet about the asylum, with therapy groups and all staff numbers written on it, and before I know it, my 'family' is out the doors and in the car. Yeah, love you too.

I walk towards an elevator, slowly and lazily. I have honestly stopped caring about everything. Reaching the transportation device, i press the '4' button and wait.

I try to calm myself down, and process all that has happened. I'm seriously in a mental institution. I'm medically psycho. I'm the type of person that people warn children to stay away from. I'm mad.

Exiting the elavator, I follow signs to my room. It took a while, with every sluggish step I took, the more anger and frustration I felt boiling inside of me. I reach my room, enter and just look around.

Well, fuck me.